Callander
by N7withpride
Summary: I'm sure some of us remember Mac Callander. A name dropped occasionally as a lunatic and a badass but died and we never got to meet him? Well, fate decided to intervene in the former Van der Linde gang member's favor and saved his life. Can one man's life shift the balance in their favor against time? Or was their collapse inevitable?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! So, I got this idea when I was starting ****my second playthrough of this game. I was thinking about how badass this guys end must have been, and I got an idea. Why don't I write it myself. Then, it hit me. How would things have changed had he NOT died. This is my take on a minor character and what impact he could have had had he gotten luckier.**

The air was deafening with the piercing sound of repeater shots, that all too familiar music in my ears. I felt a stray shot pierce my shoulder, striking deep. The pain was nearly enough to take me off my feet. Nearly. I let out an animalistic growl in frustration, ducking behind a tree. This was it, I just knew it. At least I took a damn army with me. That thought almost gave me comfort.

I knew something was wrong about that fucking ferry job, I thought with a shake of my head. I took the risk to peak around the tree. There was still around a half dozen Pinkertons left. About twenty bodies littered the desert sands, staining the dull tan a deep crimson. A shot almost pierced my skull, and I ducked back. I looked at my carbine, checking ammo. Five shots.

Shit. I shook my head, chuckling dryly. I can't even take em all with me.

I waited for the silence that signifies reloading, and then I pounced. I ran out from the tree, ready to fire. Time seemed to slow as I advanced, with one peeking from behind a fallen tree, seemingly ready to fire. A well placed bullet between the eyes put that idea, along with much of his brain matter, out of his head. Another pair attempted to pounce from my left flank, readying their pistols. I spun to my side, putting a bullet in the head of one and the heart of another, taking them down. I heard the cock of a rifle behind me and spun, ducking low and firing a shot into my assailants skull right after he fired a shot at me.

Another bullet pierced my side and I howled, turning as time seemed to reach normal again. I shot the asshole in the face. I tossed my carbine down, drawing my cattleman and aiming at the one remaining Pinkerton. He smirked, an older man with no hair, as we stood at standoff.

"Mac Callander, it is an honor," he said with a sarcastic emphasis on honor, as the sound of horses sounded in the distance. Reinforcements, god dammit. Seems my luck's run dry. God, please tell me Davey got out, him and the others. I did all I could to draw em away, I hope it was enough.

"I haven't had the pleasure, mister," I smirked, wincing at the pain caused by my three gunshot wounds. Fuck, this hurts. "You know me, but I don't know you."

"I am Agent Milton, of Pinkerton Detective Agency. Now you, my young friend, are a wanted man. And I highly doubt that you'll willingly come alive, so," the man began, before slightly shifting his gun down and putting a round in my leg. I screamed, falling to a knee and dropping my gun. "I highly advise you to make any peace you need to with any higher power a worthless savage like yourself worships, because this is where you die."

"You mother fucker…" I spat, gritting my teeth and reaching for my gun. I felt another bullet shred through my arm and watched it go limp. "GOD DAMMIT! Just fucking end it already!"

"You killed a lot of good men today, damn fine men with families. Civilised men, men who's lives matter. I will not kill you quickly, because you do not deserve it," Milton snarls. He walks up to me, crouching in front of me and getting within inches of my face. I growl, low, spitting some blood into his face. Damn, that look on his face almost made dying worth it. He looked like a man possessed, wiping it off his face slowly. He grabbed me by the back of my head, knocking my hat off as he grabbed a handful of my hair. "Disrespectful fucking savage, I am civilization! I am death, coming for you and all your dirty fucking friends, do you hear me?!" He slammed my head into the ground, aiming his gun.

I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable. Well, guess I'll find out who made it out soon. The all too familiar sound of a gun blasting.

But, I felt nothing. I waited, but no pain came. I opened my eyes, and slowly looked up. I saw Milton, no gun in his hand and a look of shock in his face. Farther away, I saw a man in a dusty white leather coat on a ledge, gun smoking. His white hat blocked his eyes, and his face was completely clean shaven. Milton looked angry, but retreated quickly. I laughed, a quiet chuckle escaping my burning throat.

I was barely able to stay awake past that. I remember the man picking me up, I remember waking up once on a horse riding through Blackwater, but that's it really. Not until I woke up here, in some tiny ass shack I ain't ever seen before, with only bandages wrapped around my several bullet wounds and I raging pain in my skull.

"Oh, fuck me, this hurts," I groaned, rubbing my head.

"Well, mister, I'll have to take a pass on that first bit, but hopefully this little remedy I got'll cure ya of some'a that last part," the voice of a man came out, sounding like that of a much older and experienced man than myself, and I looked to see my savior from earlier approaching with a bowl. "It's a combination of herbs I grow around my ranch 'ere and some good ol Kentucky Bourbon. Drink up, friend."

Now, normally I don't accept unknown concoctions from strange men. But he saved my life, and my head felt like a horse had ran it over, so I grabbed the bowl and eagerly washed it down my throat. Until I tasted it, then I nearly coughed the nasty shit right up,

"Tastes like shit," I grimaced, putting down the bowl.

He laughed, a jolly and hearty laugh. "Yep, I concur, but it'll knock that nasty lil headache right out of that head of yours. Probably'll help ya feel less sore, too."

"It certainly can't make me feel much worse," I grimaced, trying to sit up. I was able to get halfway up before I moved the wrong way, causing a sharp pain to pierce through my chest and me to grimace.

"Slow down, there, partner, you ain't all the way better yet. You need ta get some rest," the man said, cleaning up the bowl. "You're lucky them bullets didn't pierce anythin' too important. The doc said you'd be fit as a fiddle in a couple'a days."

"How long have I been out?"

"A day or so. Now, back to bed. When ya can stand up, then we'll talk about my repayment," he smirked, and turned and walked out. I groaned. Of course, I should have expected he'd expect something in return. Nobody saves an outlaw from Pinkertons out of the kindness of their own heart or Christian duty, of course.

Well, I can think about that later. Now, I could use a bit more rest.

**Here you go! Chapter 1 is out there! I've never really written in first person before so bear with me as I get used to it! Please review, I really appreciate any constructive criticism or thoughts. Ideally chapter 2 will be soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I'm back with chapter 2! I struggled a bit with this one, as I wanted to rush back to the gang and the action and the story of RDR2, but I also realized that I need to take the time to develop these characters and who they are first. So, make sure you leave a review. Any thoughts, criticism, ideas, anything at all! Hope you enjoy!**

_ The echo of hooves clattering against dirt rang out through Blackwater, matching the fire of repeaters and rifles. This was NOT how this was all meant to go. It was supposed to be quick and clean, on and off. What the hell happened?_

"_Dammit, we can't shake em!" Williamson yelled, turning for a second to shoot a pursuing lawman._

"_We can't let them find camp!" I called out, dodging to my left slightly to avoid a bullet. "We need to split up! Try to shake them off our tail!"_

"_You got a deathwish boy? Cause that's suicide," Micah commented dryly. "Haven't you ever heard of safety in numbers?"_

"_Well, these 'numbers' put a target on our backs. One rider is harder to find than eight. We need to scatter!"_

"_Mac's right, Dutch, we ain't get away from them all together," Arthur sighed, shooting a flanking Pinkerton. _

"_Okay! But we'll all get picked off one by one if we don't get some distraction!" Dutch replied._

"_Leave that to me," I smirked, drawing two sticks of dynamite. "On my go, scatter!"_

"_Alright gentlemen! We meet at camp! Anyone not there in one half an hour, head north and hope to meet with us." _

_I spun around on my horse, throwing the two sticks in the direction of our pursuers. I drew my Lancaster, focusing and firing two shots. They hit their marks, colliding with the explosives and causing them both to detonate early in a blast of smoke and fire. I smirked, turning back around and turning wide right. That'll take the heat off for a second. _

_Hopefully enough that the others could get away safely, I thought as I rode Monica hard. Hopefully the injured could make it on their own, especially Davey. He was hit hard, but he's strong. Almost as strong as I am, I smirked to myself. He'll be fine. John was just grazed, he should be okay. A stray bullet struck Monica in the leg, and she went down, sending me flying into the ground a few feet away._

"_I'm so sorry, girl," I lamented, looking at the trusty steed I'd ridden all five years I've ridden with the van Der Linde gang. I pulled out my revolver, putting two in her head to end her suffering. I was surrounded. Well, this is as good a place as any to die, I guess._

That night in Blackwater had been what I'd dreamed about those days of rest in my saviors shack. Everything that happened on that ferry, the failed escape, the massacre in town. It was hard to focus on anything else, after all that happened.

It was two days before I was strong enough to get out of bed. Standing had been difficult, but delightful in releasing the building tension that is natural of several days at rest. After stretching, I looked to my bedside table. On it rested, folded, a shirt, bandana, and hat. My boots were on the floor right by the table, with my gun belt. My savior, who later introduced himself as Jonathan Bulridge, had been kind enough to share some clothes, I guess. I proceeded to get dressed, putting on the lightweight tan shirt and wrapping the red bandana around my neck. I put the hat to rest atop my mop of straight, dirty blonde hair, that definitely was in need of a trimming, before stepping out of the shack.

Stepping outside, the sun was blinding. Once my eyes adjusted, I took in the small ranch that I had been occupying. It was a small one, probably not even needing a ranch hand. Enough to live off of, but it wouldn't make a man rich. It was clearly an animal ranch, much like most of the ranches in the area due to the arid landscape and soil that didn't yield much in the way of crops.

"Ahh, so you're finally up and about!" Jonathan smiled. "I see the shirt fits, that's good. Yours was shot to hell so I figured I'd lend you an old one of mine. How do ya feel?"

"Better than I did two days ago, thanks to you," I nodded, approaching him. "I am grateful for your help, sir, and everything you've done for me."

"You're very welcome, young man," He smiled, before going back to his earlier task of brushing one of the three hitched horses in front of him.

I grabbed a brush, and began brushing another. "So, sir, if I may ask, why did you bother savin' me? You must know what I am?"

"A wanted criminal? Yes, I do," he chuckled lightly. "I'm old, I'm not long for this world, boy. I saw you, about to die at the hands of the government that killed my son. I saw a chance, to give someone else a chance to live. So don't waste what I'm giving you, boy. You have a second chance here, we don't all get that."

I nodded, looking down solemnly. "Well, I am grateful. But, I have people who need me. My ga-family needs my help. I can't just abandon them."

"That's your choice, I ain't gonna tell you what to do with your freedom. Just give it some thought, is all. Now, on to how you'll be payin' me back for the trouble. LILLIAN!"

Nearby, the sound of a creaking door drew my attention, and I turned to meet the gaze of the person who exited it.

The sight nearly took my breath away. My glance was immediately drawn to her eyes, shining a vibrant emerald that I just couldn't seem to pry my eyes away from. There was a strength in them, a kind of defiant power that one didn't often see of a woman in this world we lived in. It was intoxicating.

"So, you're the freeloader who father's been taking care of?" she asked, tone dripping with a sarcastic fire as she approached me. Once we were face to face, she grinned a cocky grin. "You ready to start actually earnin' the food and shelter we gave ya?"

I let loose a chuckle, and crossed my arms as I stared back. "What'll you have me do?"

"I could use another hand on the ranch," Jonathan cut in. "I'd say that five days of work should be enough to cover your costs, boy."

So, that's how the days went. The first day was mostly spent learning the basics of ranchwork. It was hard work, and did my sore and still semi injured body no favors, but I had a debt to pay off. I spent just about the whole day with Ms. Lillian, rarely working on anything myself. They said it was because of my injuries, but I think it's cause they didn't quite trust me just yet.

Once the work had been completed, I had retired to my room, desperate for sleep to overcome me. Sadly, it would not. There was too much for me to think about, too many ideas floating around inside of my head like sediment in a stream. So, as quiet as one could in a rickety old wooden shack, I snuck out, grabbing a bottle of whiskey as I went.

There was a hill, not far from the ranch, where one could see the town of Blackwater easily enough from. I decided that's where I would go to think, and brood. Mostly brood, if I'm honest.

My thoughts stayed on the gang, if they made it out or not. God, I hoped so. We lost so much in Blackwater, I better not be the last one left. Something about that whole job felt off, we all knew it. But Dutch, he has that way of just making you believe in something you know you shouldn't, and Morgan and Hosea had been taking so long with that score they was planning. we were all itching for a score.

Before Blackwater, we had been untouchable. Everything went our way, every score went by just as planned, mostly. I guess that was our downfall. Pride. We thought we were invincible. We weren't, and Blackwater proved that. Now poor Jenny is gone, and god knows who rests with her.

I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn't even hear the footsteps until they were right next to me.

"Someone's up early," Lillian commented, sitting down and grabbing my whiskey, taking a swig.

"I think I've built up enough hours a' rest that I don't needa sleep for a while," I sighed, looking up at the stars. "Also got stuff to think about."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I chuckled, dryly. I grabbed the whiskey back and drained the rest of its contents. "I'm a bad man, Lillian. I'm sure you guessed that, judging from how your pa found me, but I ain't a good person. I was the fighter, the rabbid, dangerous dog of the group who was always the first in a fight. Hell, once I took on fifteen sailors by myself and kicked all their asses. But, now I'm here. Almost dying gives a man a sort of perspective on life. In all my years, what have I accomplished? Blood and more blood. All I've done of note is put people in the ground. So, why didn't I die? Do I have something more to give this world? If there's a God, why was I allowed to live?"

"You have a second chance here. A chance to find out that answer. Nobody's gonna tell ya, there ain't a book with the answer to that question. You'll know, one day, why you were saved that day. And, I don't think you're as bad as you think you are. A bad man would have robbed us and left. A normal man would have just left. You've stayed, and are helping us out. Maybe you're dangerous, maybe you kill and hurt. But there's more to you than you know, Mac Callander."

I sighed, leaning back. "I was tempted to bail, I admit. Normally, that's what I would have done. But something kept me here, some voice in the back of my mind that said that I owe y'all. I guess I'm just losin my mind."

She laughed, a hearty laugh, one that when you hear it you want to laugh along with it. "Or, maybe bein on your death bed made ya realize you're human, and a conscience actually does exist.

I smirked. "Don't go tellin my gang that. Can't have em thinkin I've gone soft now."

"Tell me about them. Your gang, I mean."

"Well, there were twenty five of us total. Our leader, now his name is Dutch van der Linde and I tell ya, he's a talker. That man could convice ya of anything. He'd stand in front of us, with his fancy suit and cigar and talk about how he's got his plans and how we're a family and that everything is going to be just fine and no matter what, you believe him. Cause no one with that much confidence can be wrong. He taught me ta read. He's smart, too, always two steps ahead."

The night went on like that, me talking about the gang and our adventures. She just listened, asking little questions here and there. She reminded me of Abigail, in a way. Her curiosity, the strength in her eyes, her beauty. Before we knew it, the sun began to rise, and we both groaned.

"Well, work ain't gonna be fun today," I joked, standing up and giving her my hand to help her up. She grasped it, and I pulled. "Shoulda slept when I had the chance."

As we both headed back to the ranch, I smiled. There was something about this place, I think I was startin to like it here.

**Thanks for reading! Don't forget to drop a review down! It helps so much! Also, taking any applications for someone who'd like to read my drafts and give thoughts and things to improve. A beta tester of sorts! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! So sorry for the long wait, life has been hectic recently! This one is a long one, and ends in an abrupt place, I know. I just didn't want this going on for 5,000 words and felt like at this rate it may be that long. I figured splitting it into two parts would be better**

** I was very grateful to see multiple reviews, they seriously help me so much. I'd like to address one in particular, however, a very helpful one. To start, I am aware of my issues with describing characters and locations. Wild west stories are new territory for me, but I hope I have improved on that somewhat. Please, leave reviews guys. They are so helpful for me. Without any further ado, here is chapter three of Callander!**

The sweat dropped off my brow in droves as I hefted logs around the perimeter of the ranch. The fences had been in a state of disrepair and needed to be replaced, and now that I was here that was my job. Lillian was helping, tackling the other side of the fence. I had been going at it almost all day, and I was close to finishing my half. This was my last post to nail in.

I hefted the carved wood up, putting it in the two corresponding open slits on both of the posts dug into the ground. I adjusted it to make sure it was fit in just right, then dusted off my hands. Time to see how Lillian was doing.

When I approached, she was just bending down to pick up one of the stack of logs for the fence. She was gifted physically, that was undeniable. It was evident in her body that she was not unaccustomed to hard work and heavy lifting. She was not large, by any means, she was probably barely up to my shoulders, but she clearly was no delicate flower.

"Are ya gonna come over here and help, ya lazy bastard, or are ya just gonna stand and watch?" She asked me, not even turning to look in my direction.

I smirked, even though she couldn't see it, and leaned against a tree. "I did my part, Lil, and I like the view just fine from where I am."

She chuckled dryly. "Ass. After this, I have some errands to run in town. You up ta goin with?"

My smirk dropped, suddenly it was as if I was back in Blackwater again. I could feel the gunfire whizzing past my head, hear the repeater blasts, feel the blood rushing down my skin…

"Mac?" I heard, and with that my head snapped back to the present. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," I shook it off, throwing a grin on my face. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I'm sure my face is gonna be up all over that town."

"Actually, boy, it isn't" I heard the voice of Jonathon come up behind me. "I looked. There's only a couple posters around town. Not you. I suppose they think you're dead, boy. That, or you ain't worth paying for."

"Is it bad that the second choice makes me mad?" I smirked, turning to face the older man. "Cause that pisses me off."

Jonathon laughed. "I ain't one to judge, kid, all I know is I didn't hear much of Mac Callander when I walked around the streets. So as long as you keep your head down," he said, emphasizing that last part with a tone that made me feel as if I were a child again. "You should be alright."

"I ain't one for causing trouble sir," I pass off my best goody two shoes grin. "Trouble just has a habit of following me around, is all."

"Tell that to those fifteen sailors you beat the holy hell out of," Lillian commented as she finished off her half.

"Hey! I'll have you know, they started it. They made a remark about my friend I didn't take too kindly to."

"Oh? So, instead of ignoring em, or talking to them, you fought them? Wow, what a saintly man. Definitely not one for causing trouble, right?"

I looked at her, glaring. She met my glare with a defiant smirk, and we held eachother's gaze. Then, we both burst into a fit of laughter. "Fair enough, my lady, fair enough."

"'My lady'? I'm shocked, it knows how to speak like a member of civilization!"

"I am nothing if not a gentleman," I laugh, mockingly bowing and removing my hat. "One that kills and robs folks, but that's neither here nor there."

She laughed, a hearty and warm sound that was unrestrained. It was as if she didn't have a worry in the world, not a woman carrying the load of an entire ranch almost on her shoulders and talking with a man who has killed hundreds. It made me feel as if, just maybe, I was doing something right in this life. Cause if I can bring a sound like that out of someone, how bad can I be?

She began heading to the wagon, stopping to look back at me. "You comin or not?"

"I'd be more than happy to escort you to town, my lady," I smirked, before following her to the wagon.

I helped her up onto the wagon before getting on myself. "Who's taking the reins?"

"Well, since you've been playing the part of the gentleman so well, I think you should do it," She replied, and I rolled my eyes, grabbing the reins. With a crack, we were off.

"So, what do we need from town?"

"Just to pick up some things from the general store. A few shipments of hay and feed and a pack of cigarettes for my pa. You need anything?"

It was then that I remembered the satchel wrapped around my chest, carrying the small sum of money I carried with me to the Ferry job. Probably sixty bucks, give or take.

"I could probably use some ammo and some gun oil."

"Speaking of which, that revolver you carry is beautiful. Custom?"

"Yeah, it's a modified Double action. Davey always called me his "rabid wolf" cause'a how I'm loyal and protective, so I got a wolf carved into my gun here on the handle. And I got this pattern on my gun cause it looks fancy."

"Wow, insightful," she rolled her eyes. "You're a real deep thinker."

"Do I seem like much of a thinker, Miss Bulridge?"

She laughed at that. "No, I suppose you don't. Davey's your brother, correct?"

"Yeah, that he is. Raised me, mostly. Our pa, well he was never home. Either drinkin or minin, he wanted nothing to do with us, me in particular. Probably cause I killed our ma when she popped me out. When we were young, I was ten and Davey was fifteen, I snapped. Pa hit me, I hit back, he fell, broke his neck bouncin off a table. Davey and I ran, never looked back. Dutch found us when Davey was tryina steal from his saddlebags, and the rest is history."

She nodded, seemingly unsure what to say. "I had a brother, once, long ago. He was older, and the best brother anyone coulda ever asked for. He was kind ta me, snuck me sweets, all that. He met a girl, and fell in love. He wanted to marry her, but her parents refused. So, they ran away. He said goodbye to me before he left. The next time I saw him, he was brought home by the county sheriff. Dead. Apparently, the sheriff had been sent to stop them from leavin by her family. He put up a fight, so the sheriff shot him. Pa hasn't been the same since."

"I am sorry," I commented, after taking a moment of silence. "That's law for ya, overinflated sense of justice, tellin themselves that they know better than the people cause they get paid for the job, and that we have ta listen to em. They're robbers, just as much as me."

She didn't respond to what I said, and I had nothin else to add. So we continued the ride into town in silence. I glanced around at my surroundings, taking it all in. There were a couple of small houses on the outskirts, but few actual people were outside their doors. Probably still scared after the massacre.

The tension in the air was practically visible. I felt as if I could pull out my knife and cut through it. As we got closer, I noticed the church. It was a small thing, made of rotting wood and covered in dust. What stuck with me, though, was all the graves. The yard was filled with em, so much so that you could see they had to take down the fence and were in the process of remaking it, giving more space to house more of the dead.  
Well, at least they could thank us for the work, right?

As we rode into the town proper, I took note of the people. For one thing, the place was crawling with lawmen. Down every street, every alleyway stood pairs of men with silver badges and overinflated egos. It was enough to put me on edge, although I gave off no hint of those feelings because I knew the law. They could sense fear, they preyed on it. And I'd never give em the satisfaction.

The majority of the people out in the city were law, they vastly outnumbered the actual citizens walkin about. Makes sense, the massacre was still fresh. They were probably all still terrified to step foot outside. Everyone who was out walked like men possessed, rushing to their destinations as if the devil himself was behind them.

"Play it cool," Lillian whispered. "I'll do the talkin. Keep your head down and act like paid protection my daddy bought to keep us safe."

I nodded. I'd played that role before in scores with Hosea, the part came easy.

"Excuse me, madam," the voice of a lawman sounded, and I turned to get a look at him. He was an older gentleman, with a fancy silver mustache that seemed to sharpen to a point on the ends. He wore a hat white as snow, and a black coat with the typical silver badge of a lawman. "May I ask what your business is in town today?"

"Just pickin up some supplies, sir, we need some feed for the farm and one of our horses needs some medicine."

"And who is this gentleman," he asked, gesturing to me.

"A bodyguard, for the farm. With what happened, daddy was scared of dangerous folk and picked up a helpin hand for a few days to keep us safe."

I grunted, nodding my head. My face stayed cold, and I looked around, pretending to be on the lookout for any threats.

"Your daddy's a smart man, miss. Now, you be off and have a nice day. Do be quick, ma'am, we're not sure if the men who committed this crime are still about."  
"Of course, sir, thank you so much," she replied kindly. I have to admit, she played a damsel quite well. I almost forgot how tough she really was. Eventually we stopped the cart outside the general store. "I'll go inside and get the supplies. You get whatever you need. Meet me at the saloon when you've finished your business."

"The saloon?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"I need a drink," she smirked, before walking into the general store. I shook my head, smiling as I walked to the gun store.

I took in the streets as I walked, slowly. The place had been cleaned up, the only evidence of any violence being a few bullet holes in some of the buildings and an overabundance of lawmen. The place was bigger than anyone had anticipated riding in, we had been told to expect a small trading outpost. This place was almost city level, the biggest one he'd seen in this area if he had to guess.

It felt strange to be back. Like I was treading in a place I wasn't at all supposed to be. I heard the urge to run calling to me, whispering my name and telling me to get the hell out of here. Van Der Linde men weren't meant for cities like this, civilization. And this place held some fresh wounds, ones I wasn't sure would ever heal.

_ Bullets were flying, coming in from all sides in an endless wave. I was shocked that the crate I was hidden behind had been able to survive this much punishment. _

"_What the FUCK happened in there?!" I screamed. "We were smooth sailing until you shot that woman, Dutch, why-"  
_"_Do not question me, boy!" Dutch reprimanded with an angry roar. "NOT right now! We need ta focus on gettin out of here in one piece!"_

_ I peaked up, firing a repeater shot and killing a lawmen. I dove back behind cover, and was happy I did so when I heard the twenty bullets that smashed into the spot I once was standing. _

"_Anyone got any bright ideas on how to get out this mess?" Micah exclaimed, standing and killing a rooftop sniper. _

"_We just need to wait for an opening! We'll know it when it comes," Dutch replied, firing blindly at Pinkertons. _

_ The aggressive trotting of hooves echoed past the sound of gunfire, and I turned to see a cart filled with half a dozen lawmen approaching fast._

"_Mac, you still got your dynamite?" Davey called out, and I nodded. I reached into my satchel and pulled out a stick of dynamite, looking at the distance between us and the cart. I guessed it would be right on top of us in about ten seconds._

_ Perfect, I smirked as I lit the stick of dynamite. Then, I waited._

"_Did a bullet take out yer brains, boy? Throw the damn thing!" Bill scolded. I ignored him, focusing on my internal countdown._

_ It took eight seconds for the fire on the end of my dynamite to set off the explosive. I knew exactly what I was doing. Five, four, three, two, I chucked the dynamite at the cart. It landed right next to the driver of the cart before bursting into a massive orange flame, taking the cart and everyone inside with it._

"_Don't ever doubt me on explosives, Bill," I glared at the man. "I know more than you do on the subject."_

"_It's time, ladies and gentlemen, make a break for the horses!" Dutch called, and we all took off running. A lawman tried to tackle me, but I dodged at the last second, whacking him across the face with the butt of my rifle. I quickly placed a bullet in his skull before continuing running._

"_Fuck," I heard a feminine roar and looked over at Jenny. I saw her fall to a knee, a bullet wound through her leg. _

_ I was about to run and get her, before a bullet pierced her skull. She fell, limp, and I screamed in rage firing blindly at our pursuers._

_ I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked at Davey. "Man, we gotta go! Don't die for a fools vengeance," he then turned and began running. A bullet pierced his shoulder and he almost went down but I grabbed him, holding him up_

"_Not today, brother, no one else dies," I said and we kept running. _

If I looked closely, I could still see the scorch marks on the ground where the cart exploded. Fuck, I needed a drink.

I stepped into the gunsmith, and he greeted me.

"Hello there, mister. Looking to protect yourself? After what happened here a few days ago, can never be too careful."

"Ain't that the truth," I said with a fake smile. "I need three boxes of revolver ammo and some gun oil."

I paid for the transaction, it costing five dollars, and proceeded to walk to the saloon. I was looking forward to that drink now more than ever.

**Here you go! Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to leave a review, they are extremely helpful!**


End file.
